


OUAT Tumblr Ficlets

by blueink3



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-13 20:10:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 13,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16025123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueink3/pseuds/blueink3
Summary: A collection of ficlets posted to Tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

She knows the feel of his lips and how they mold to hers. She knows the puff of air that escapes his lungs right when she makes contact, like he can’t believe they’re together after so much time apart. She knows the feel of his fingers as they thread through her hair, pulling her even closer. She knows that she will never get enough of this; not now, not ever. 

But she also knows the feel of his lips when they’re still beneath her own. She knows what it’s like to place a palm on his chest and not feel the steady beat beneath her fingertips. She knows the indescribable pain of holding his head in her lap and watching his life bleed out from his side. She knows that she will never be able to live without him. Which is why she’ll kiss him, over and over, until her lips finally still against his own. 


	2. Chapter 2

 “Charming, don’t."    

His wife always had been the voice of reason, but did he listen? Nope. Which is how he ends up at the bar late one Friday night, the thumping bass rattling every bone in his body and the strobing lights desperately making him wish he had a pair of sunglasses. 

In fact, it’s the sunglasses that give her away. They’re his. His which she stole (‘borrowed’ to use her term) and is now using as a party accessory. 

He stands still for a moment, studying her. She’s carefree and unguarded and all of things she’s not when daylight comes and she has what seems like the weight of the world on her shoulders. 

Despite what Snow might think, he didn’t come to bring her home. He didn’t come to tell her it’s past her (nonexistent) curfew. He came to observe. To remain invisible. Leaning against the wall and blending in with people who look his age, but have lived far fewer lifetimes in their short years. 

She laughs and, yes, he can pick it out over the music and the shouts and the clinking glasses. He can pick it out because it’s the most beautiful music  _he's_ heard, and it drowns out all others.  

So he leans against the wall and watches his daughter dance, because at 2:07 on a Saturday morning, he’s got nowhere else he’d rather be. 


	3. Chapter 3

“What was it like?" 

Snow glances up from the book, slightly startled that she’s been caught reading Henry’s large collection, and she tries to shut it, but Emma’s already seen the page she was on. 

Whoever illustrated the moment caught the light reflecting off the glass mobile perfectly. Almost as perfectly as the grief etched on her mother’s face. 

"What was what like?" 

"Thinking he was gone.” It’s a morbid question, but she’s curious. She needs to know that someone else has felt this kind of bone-deep hurt. That someone understands why Graham’s jacket still hangs in the sheriff’s office and why she will never again eat a bear claw. She needs to know. 

Snow glances at the drawing, inhaling sharply as she studies the picture. It takes her a moment to speak and when she does, her voice wavers. 

“There are no words." 

And it’s as accurate a description as Emma can think of. There are no words to describe what it’s like to lose that kind of love. 

Not even ‘goodbye.’


	4. Chapter 4

“Come with me." 

"What? Where?" 

She’s always been stubborn, but the pregnancy has made her more so. The corner of his mouth quirks up and he tilts his head in a way that says, "I’m not telling." 

"Charming." 

"Snow." 

He knows her well enough to see the moment she caves. She bites her lip and her eyes dart to the floor before meeting his gaze. Her green eyes. He  could get lost in them for all eternity. 

"Charming, she - ”

“No. Not a word about the Evil Queen." 

"But I - ”

“Nope.” He places a finger to her lips, effectively silencing her. “We… we did something pretty incredible,” he says as he lets go of her hands and places them on her stomach. “And I would like to take a moment, just a moment, to celebrate our accomplishment." 

She smirks and gives him the look she always does we he touches their baby. He doesn’t have all of the details of it memorized yet, but he’s getting there. He lowers himself to one knee in front of her, takes her hands once more and presses a kiss to the front of the white gown she wears. 

"Look what we made, Snow." 

And in this moment, he doesn’t know that he’ll agree to be separated from her for 28 years. He doesn’t know that the plan will fail and their baby, their perfect accomplishment, will come early. He doesn’t know that just one kiss will have to suffice for nearly three decades. And he doesn’t know that he’ll nearly die to get her to safety. 

But they have this, here, now. And so he savors it, down on bended knee with his baby moving beneath his lips, because what he doesn’t know doesn’t matter at the moment. 


	5. Chapter 5

“What are you doing?”

But Graham doesn’t respond as he slowly walks toward her with the gait of a hunter who’s caught his prey. She backs up, eyeing him warily and with not a little mischief, until she bumps into the desk and goes no farther. 

He never stops advancing on her, until they’re practically pressed chest to chest in the silence of the sheriff’s office. She can smell the mint on his breath from the gum he chewed after his coffee and she can see his pulse thump in his temple. 

“Graham, what are you doing?" 

In lieu of an answer, he places his hands on either side of her waist and lifts her onto the edge of the desk. She lets out a little yelp as her bum lands on a pile of paperwork, but her sheriff doesn’t seem bothered as they flutter to the floor. 

"This,” he begins as he kneels down in front of her, “has been a very bad boot.” He slowly unties the laces, never removing his eyes from hers.

And in that moment, she’s pretty sure she’s been lit on fire, the blood in her veins coursing like magma. Her heart pounds as his fingers deftly undo the knot, tugging it from her foot, and letting it drop to the floor with a resounding thud. 

“Are you going to read it its rights?” Her voice shakes as he takes her other foot in hand, placing a kiss on her jean-clad knee. 

“I was thinking about it." 

The second boot comes off in much the same fashion, and she really should tell him that this is an incredibly bad idea - they’re in an office whose walls are windows - but his fingers are skimming up her calves and, frankly, she can’t be bothered with walls, window or otherwise. 

"Graham,” she breathes, head falling back and arms shaking under her weight as she leans back. 

“He’s not in,” he cheekily replies, as he tugs her closer to the edge, and goes to work on her belt. “He’s rather indisposed, actually." 

The leather comes free of the loops too easily and she gasps as he quickly stands and slowly drops it to the ground.

"The belt had it coming, too?”

“Indubitably,” he whispers as he grazes his lips across hers. Touching but not actually kissing. 

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the clothes to follow suit. Apparently the majority of her wardrobe has been “naughty,” to use Graham’s term, and she’s left with nothing but her underwear, spread out on the sheriff’s desk while the sheriff himself leans over her with a hungry look.

“Shall I break out the handcuffs?”

She laughs throatily, which is why neither of them hears the door open.  

“OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" 

David clamps his hand over his eyes and backs up abruptly, knocking over a coat rack and a box of paperwork in his haste to get out of the room. 

Oh sweet jesus. 

Emma curses the day this became a family business as Graham stares at her with eyes that have had the fear of God put into them. 

"He’s going to kill me, isn’t he,” he murmurs, the hunter having become the hunted. 

She simultaneously places a kiss on his cheekbone and hands him his pants. 

“He’ll have to catch you first." 


	6. Chapter 6

She remembers watching him do it with a practiced ease that even then, seemed out of place in their world. His foot collided with the door, and it sprang back, nearly coming off its rusty hinges.

She remembers completing much the same move herself, sending a mad man through a window in a rain of shattered glass and shocking her roommate in the process. 

_“By the way, have you been taking kickboxing and not telling me about it?"_

_"I have no idea where that came from."_

She tries to remember if he taught her. 

She imagines how many times he’s had to do that before; in training, in battle, in survival. 

She remembers the nursery door standing ajar and prays it didn’t present too much of an impediment.

She hopes that the moment taken to kick it open wasn’t the moment he needed to turn and adequately defend himself.

She hopes that that one second, when his foot collided with the door because his arms were full of their daughter, wasn’t the time he needed to bring his sword up before they cut him down. 

She remembers, she wonders.

She assumes their daughter will have no trouble mastering it. No trouble knocking down the doors life puts in her way.

Her father will teach her. Her mother, too.

She was born in a fury, her father fighting his way to her survival. And Snow has no doubt he’ll go out in quite the same fashion. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Where’s David?" 

"Checking to see if any of the bean crop is salvageable." Snow says in a desolate tone as she collapses on the couch and tugs the blanket over her head. "Or, you know, letting Leroy get him drunk at The Rabbit Hole. Either one." 

"Wait.” Emma sounds confused. “What happened to the beans?" 

"Someone burned them. Everything gets burned.” She thinks of their castle, their home, that they now have no chance of returning to. She thinks of the black on her heart, her singed soul, and knows that her hope of redemption, her prayer for a restart is gone.

“Who?" 

"Don’t know,” Snow murmurs. She is numb. She allowed herself to believe in a second chance so fully, and her belief, her faith, has done nothing but come back to bite her in the ass. 

“I’m sorry. I know how badly you wanted that,” Emma says, and she truly does sound upset, regardless of the fact that she wasn’t exactly on board with the whole ‘Return to the Enchanted Forest’ plan. 

Snow makes a noise that sounds remarkably like an apathetic “meh." 

The couch dips next to her and she holds her breath. She can’t see, not with the blanket over her head. She can only go by touch alone. 

"Scoot over,” her daughter complains and Snow bites her lip to both hide a smile and stop a tear, but she complies. 

And Emma slides behind her, spooning her slightly even with the blanket over her head. It takes them a moment to get settled again, two grown women squeezed together on the tiny couch. It’s a miracle one of them doesn’t end up on the floor. 

“I’m sorry about the beans,” Emma murmurs.

“Me too." 

They’re silent for a moment, mother and daughter breathing in tandem. And Snow thinks that this right here might be enough. It’s more than enough to heal whatever black is in her heart. 

"Will do me a favor in a bit?" 

"Pick my father up from the bar?" 

"Yes please." 

Emma snorts and Snow finally smiles, tugging the blanket off her head.

After all, the concept of "going home” is all relative. 


	8. Chapter 8

_“I’ll be devastated."_

Gold thinks about those words in the dead of night sometimes. When the wind rattles the trees almost as violently as his nightmares rattle his head. 

_"The boy will be your undoing."_

He thinks of those words, too. And it’s not hard to figure out which whisper wins out. 

Charming’s devastation is nothing compared to his own undoing. The fact that he’s thinking about it all, though, is what’s interesting. Concerning, even. He shouldn’t care what happens to the Prince or his family, except the Prince now  _is_ family. His grandson’s grandfather, tied by blood. Despite everything, Charming is still the one person he’s ever gone to for advice. And despite everything, Charming has answered the call every single time. 

But Gold has his priorities, warped though they may be. And this newfound family tree is not high up on the list. 

So of course Gold will still have to destroy him. Charming’s happiness, his family, his life, his love.

He just won’t be particularly happy about it. 


	9. Chapter 9

“What’s wrong?" 

Emma freezes, juice halfway to her mouth. "What do you mean?”

A knowing smile graces Snow’s face and she takes a sip of her coffee, repeating, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t - I…” The stuttering is not helping her case, Emma knows this. She’s fine. Really, she is. And yet her mother is looking at her in the way mothers do when they see beyond the act. Beyond the facade. 

“I’m fine,” she says and she really wishes her voice hadn’t cracked on the second word. 

“Emma, honey - ” Snow starts, and that’s it. That’s all it takes for the dam to crack.

First it’s one tear, then two. They fall from her eyelashes, grazing her cheek, before splashing down into the bowl of cereal in front of her. Snow reaches across the table and does what most mother’s are hardwired to do: takes her hand and waits for her daughter to speak. 

“It’s Neal." 

"I know." 

"What?” Emma wipes a hand across her cheek and stares at her mother’s sad smile. “How do you know?  _I_ barely even know!" 

"You’re not wearing the necklace." 

Shit. 

She’s been stunned into silence for a moment, shocked that her mother has been  _that_ observant. Or that she’s been  _that_ transparent. Either way, it’s not good, and Snow must mistake her lack of reply for confusion.

"The Swan charm? I noticed it was missing when you came back from New York.”

Emma’s hand unconsciously goes to reach for it, and sure enough, she’s still surprised to find it not warm against her skin. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she finally - terrifyingly - admits, palm pressed to her chest, where the piece of silver should be.

She expects her mother to say, “Tell him” or something to that effect, but she does something altogether different. 

“When I first met your father, I put on his mother’s ring that he intended to give to someone else." 

"Abigail,” Emma murmurs, because at least she read  _that_ part of the book.

“Right. I gave it back. Obviously. Told him it wasn’t my taste at all.” There’s something wistful on Snow’s face and Emma’s mesmerized by the look of pure love there. “But the truth of the matter, is that I didn’t know I wasn’t whole until that ring was on my finger. And when I took it off, I was incomplete until your father placed it back on with promise." 

Emma’s not much for sappiness, but she could listen to that story until her mother went hoarse. "So… are you telling me to propose to Neal?”

Snow levels her with a look and Emma can’t help but chuckle. 

“You’re incomplete,” she responds, effectively wiping the smile off Emma’s face. “Despite the past, he’s a part of you. And you’re a part of him. You love him.”

It’s just a simple declaration; such a easy observation, and yet Emma can barely breathe as if she’s just now realizing it for herself. 

She loves him. Goddammit, she thinks she actually loves him. 

“But I - ”

“Get the charm back,” Snow simply says, effectively cutting off all argument. 

“He put me in jail!” Emma argues, petulance on full display.

“And he’s feeling very sorry about that!” Snow responds.

“What? How do  _you_ know?" 

Her mother takes a long sip of coffee and turns her attention to the paper. 

"Your father might have had a little talk with him." 

Emma drops her head into her hands, but at least the tears have stopped.

Funny, how mothers can do that. 


	10. Chapter 10

_Had David not been holding his father, they both know he would have punched Neal in the face. But they’ve since come to an understanding, found a common ground Neal is eternally grateful for._

_Her._

_And knowing her means loving her. And loving her means protecting her. And sometimes protecting her means having to abandon her._


	11. Chapter 11

_He knows what this is like. He knows what it is to watch the people you love get ripped away from you. To have them go where you can’t follow. To not know if they’re okay and safe. To not be able to contemplate the alternative. He’s felt this pain and it’s not one he’d wish to live through again, but if it spared her, he’d happily take on the burden._

_Yes, he knows better than anyone, and yet he still can’t help glancing around before he places a kiss to his daughter’s head._

_Because even now, after everything they’ve been through, he’s still not sure he’s doing this right._


	12. Chapter 12

_“Please don’t let go!”_

She’s not sure she can take it anymore. She’s not sure her body can physically handle all it’s attempting to process. She feels nothing. Not the tears on her face or the salt on her lips. Not the splinters from the wood beneath her palms or the ghost of the grip of Neal’s hand. 

She’s been here before and she felt nothing then, too. Not the cold of the linoleum, or the cotton of his shirt. Not the desk pressed against her back or the sobs clawing their way out of her throat. 

_“Graham! Come on, Graham!”_

Or perhaps the most jarring of all: the heart, silent and still in his chest. 


	13. Chapter 13

He tucks her head under his chin and places another soft kiss into her hair. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs over and over, wanting nothing more than to take this away; to spare her this unimaginable hurt.

He’d gladly take Neal’s place for his daughter and grandson’s sakes. But his death would only bring more pain and he wishes somehow the universe could provide an even trade. 

Something catches the light and he glances down at her neck to look at the chain resting there and, perhaps more importantly, what hangs from it. 

It’s a simple silver band. Too big for her, but significant enough to be worn close to her heart. It’s familiar, eerily so, and it takes Charming longer than it should to put the pieces together. 

Oh. 

This is  _his_ ring. 

The ring that’s been missing from his fourth finger since his daughter broke a curse and reminded him he had a wife with a matching band. He wonders how she got it, why she wears it, if she knows precisely what it is. But she must because why else would it be here, tucked against her skin, measuring the beat of her heart? 

“You have my ring,” he murmurs and she freezes at having been caught, sniffling slightly. 

“I’m so - ” But before she can even get the apology out, he’s pulling her closer and allowing her to dig her fingers into his jean-clad knee as her other hand grips his vest. 

“Keep it. If I want proof of my marriage, I need only look at you." 


	14. Chapter 14

_“David! We can’t leave her. She’ll die if we don’t get her help."_

She’s vaguely aware of the words echoing in her head, but this must be death, for why else would Snow’s voice be tormenting her mind? But that’s when she feels it: the sensors being pulled away from her body with the gentlest of touches as strong hands slide under her knees and shoulders. 

"David - ”

“I’ve got her." 

And with those three words, she’s lifted into the air, and yes, she must be dead, she thinks as she floats along as if weighing nothing.  

"Watch her head.” Still Snow’s voice. 

“I know,” comes a deeper tone and it seems to shake her battered bones. Her limbs hang limply, unable to obey even the simplest of commands, but eventually her senses come back. Slowly but surely. She smells fish and salty air. She feels the breeze through her hair and leather beneath her cheek. She hears seagulls in the distance and the beat of someone’s heart thundering in her ear. 

“Almost there, Regina. Hang on,” the voice says, the voice that’s not Snow’s - oh. But of course. You cannot have one without the other and, by process of elimination, the arms she’s in are Charming’s. 

“Just little bit longer.” She feels Snow’s fingers card through her hair, but still she cannot open her eyes. 

And perhaps it’s for the best, because to open her eyes would mean to break this moment. And this moment is for her and her alone. She can act surprised that they saved her later, but for now, she gives in to her stinging eyes and buries her face deeper into Charming’s jacket as he carefully yet swiftly carries her down the street. 

Family. She’s gone so long without one and it’s ironic that the members she’s left with are the ones who’ve aided and abetted knocking off the other limbs of her family tree. Not that she has room to talk. 

Still. She has this moment and she will cling to it for all it’s worth. 

“Almost there." 

"Hang on, Regina,” they whisper one more time.

And for once in her life, Regina finds herself listening.  


	15. Chapter 15

She pushes him back into their waiting arms, gently prying his fingers from her jacket. Her heart breaks with every bit his grip loosens, but her father and mother’s arms welcome him and she knows he’ll be safe. Just as she was twenty-eight years ago, cocooned in their embrace. 

Snow immediately pulls Henry to her chest and wraps an arm around his shoulder. Her eyes are on him but David’s eyes are on Emma, watching. Scrutinizing. Waiting for the inevitable break. 

She gives them a smile that she hopes passes muster, but it takes all of her energy to fake that one expression, and she knows she’ll lose it if forced to try again. 

They begin down the tunnel toward the exit, her family. Her parents and her son, two generations, and she the link connecting them left behind. She can do this. She _needs_ to do this, and in fact, she’s given her loved ones no choice but to honor that decision. 

Snow and Henry lead the way, but David lingers a bit. Somehow Emma knew he’d be the most difficult. The one most unlikely to let her stay behind. What she didn’t count on, however, was how hard it would be to make him go.

Sure enough, he stops after about ten paces or so, and turns - staring at her with nothing but pride. So much pride it nearly bowls her over and breaks her resolve right then. 

“I love you, Emma.” Such a declaration, delivered so simply. Four words. Five syllables. 

She nods, voice robbed, unable to say anything. And it seems to be enough for him because he turns his back and starts to walk away again, but it’s not enough for her. It’ll never be enough for her. 

“Dad?”

He stops. It takes him a moment to slowly face her, but when he finally does, barely contained emotion draws lines across his skin.

“Yeah?” His voice is broken, but it gives her strength to admit something she hasn’t allowed herself to feel in oh so long. 

“I love you, too.”  

He tries to smile, but his face crumples, and he strides forward to wrap his arms around her. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he whispers, but for her sake or his own, she’s not sure. He knows her so well, because even if his words are a lie, it’s one she needs to hear. One she needs to believe in. 

“I’ll find you,” she quietly replies and that’s what breaks him. His shoulders shake, he grips her tighter, and they stay locked for a moment that seems to make up for lost time, silently swaying in a hole beneath the earth. 

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are still wet, but his body is as steady as a rock. She doesn’t fare so well, as tears run tracks through the dirt on her face. He reaches up and wipes them away with his thumb. 

“I have faith in you, Emma Ruth." 

She laughs - a knee-jerk reaction at hearing her full name (a name she wouldn’t know to answer to) leave her father’s lips. 

"You have to let me do this,” she says when she realizes he’s no closer to leaving than he was minutes ago. 

“I know. I just…” he trails off and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I just needed a moment.” He cups her cheek in his palm and she places her hand on his. “I’ve left you before. I didn’t think I’d have to do it again." 

It takes every ounce of strength she has left to pull his hand away from her face and let go. Briefly, she wonders if this is what he felt like, what her mother felt like, when they had only moments to say hello and then goodbye.

"I’ve found you before. I’ll do it again." 

This time, it’s his turn to nod, eyes lingering for a moment before he finally closes them and begins his long walk down the tunnel. 

She watches him go until she can no longer see him, and then a moment longer, because she’ll never get used to this. 

Learning, loving, and then leaving. 


	16. Chapter 16

The stars are brighter in Neverland. Given the circumstances, that’s not what he thought he’d notice first, but there they are, mocking him with their happy, twinkling glow. 

His family is sleeping; Snow curled up under some spare blankets, with Emma nestled into her side. Regina and Gold are below deck, but his daughter, his strong, brave, beautifully capable daughter is felled by the mere rock of a boat. Her seasickness prevents her from sleeping anywhere but on deck, with the cool breeze rustling the sails. The island is silhouetted against the moon in the distance, a mountain against an ocean of black. 

It’s foreboding, and Charming knows that no matter how many battles he’s fought in the past, this will be his fiercest yet. 

“All asleep?" 

He glances over his shoulder to find Hook leaning against the wheel, as the sails luff above him. They’re drifting with no real destination yet, but someone must keep watch to ensure that the island remains a distant break in the horizon.  

Charming nods and returns his gaze to the women in his life. His wife and his daughter, who hold his happiness and heartbreak in the palm of their hands. 

"Do you have any?" 

"Any what?" 

"Kids.” The question is out before he can really wonder if it was a good idea to begin with. Hook is silent behind him for a moment, but just when Charming thinks he won’t be getting a reply, one comes. 

“No." 

"Oh. I thought… You said ‘The things we do for our children’ earlier…” Charming shrugs. “I assumed…" 

"My love had a child that I hoped one day to call mine. Alas…” Hook’s footsteps signal his approach and he leans against the crate next to Charming and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” And Charming is surprised to find he truly is. But then… something occurs to him. “Milah,” he murmurs. “You loved Milah… Baelfire.” The realization tumbles quietly from his lips and there’s an ache in his chest that grows with every thump of his beating heart. It mourns for Neal who was gone before Charming could know him, for Emma and Henry, who’ve lost so much already, and even for Gold, whose life’s pursuit was snuffed out like a candle. And now it mourns for Hook, who’s staring his own wife and daughter like a starving man watching a feast through the window. 

Hook doesn’t respond at first, but when his voice comes, it’s low and broken, a somber dirge all on its own: 

“I mourn the loss of your grandson’s father more than you know." 

And Charming can’t respond to that. Not when he empathizes so deeply. 

So he places his hand on the pirate’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze, hoping to convey the truce he’s trying to put on offer. 

Hook smirks, but his eyes are grateful. "Goin’ soft on me, mate?" 

Charming snorts, but leaves his hand where it is. "Never." 


	17. Chapter 17

The waves seem to be playing a horrendous game of catch as the boat pitches back and forth on the sea. Emma groans as she leans further into the toilet (“the head,” Hook corrected), and heaves once more. 

“Oh my god, make it stop." 

"I wish I could, honey,” her mother murmurs and Emma’s not even sure when exactly she appeared, but she’s grateful for the hand currently running up and down her back.  

“I don’t like boats,” she mutters and her mother can’t help but chuckle. 

“Never been on one before?" 

Emma shakes her head and promptly regrets the action when the room spins. She briefly wonders when she started referring to her mother as ‘her mother’ in her head and not 'Mary Margaret.’ She wonders when exactly the switch actually occurred, but finds she doesn’t quite care. 

Mary Margaret is Snow White. And Snow White is her mother. And knowing when she accepted that is neither here nor there when the woman herself is gently pulling her hair back and massaging the back of her neck. 

"I don’t like boats, either, if it makes you feel any better." 

"I don’t see you puking,” Emma mutters, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and feeling well enough to sit back on the questionably-clean floor. 

“I don’t like boats because I can’t swim,” her mother says simply and Emma’s eyebrows hit her hairline. 

“You can’t swim? But… you’re a badass." 

Her mother laughs and stares at a knot in the wooden wall, perhaps recalling another time and another place, long before Emma was even a hoped for thought.

"Your father tried to teach me,” she begins, shrugging. “Apparently, I’m a bad student." 

"Like mother, like daughter,” Emma deadpans, rubbing her palms over her clammy face and missing Snow’s warm smile.

“I highly doubt that. Your father had your swordfighting lessons mapped out by the time I was six-months pregnant." 

And Emma stops then. She stops thinking about how ill she is, stops feeling the rock of the ship, stops second guessing her decision to call them 'Mom’ and 'Dad,’ and stops wondering if they really wanted her as much as they say they did. 

"Really?”

Her mother nods and a wistful smile slides across her face. “At the rate he was going, you would have been a master swordsman by the time you were potty-trained.”

Emma can’t even smile. Not when she thinks of all that she’s lost. That  _they've_ lost. 

“And what were you going to teach me?” she quietly asks and Snow considers her for a moment.

“Archery. Dresses, make-up. Boys. Life,” she finishes and Emma can see a lifetime’s worth of plans and hopes and dreams flicker in her mother’s eyes. They carry the weight of missed opportunities and stolen chances on their slender shoulders and Emma bites her lip to keep the sudden tears at bay. 

“I still don’t know how to use a bow and arrow,” she whispers. It’s an offer, an outstretched palm she’s hoping her mother will take. 

“I’ll show you,” her mother replies, voice tight with emotion. 

“And maybe Dad can put those lesson plans to good use." 

Snow practically glows, as Emma imagines she would have had she been allowed to watch her husband teach their daughter how to defend a kingdom. 

"From what I hear, you don’t need them.”

“Like father, like daughter?” she asks and Snow winks. 

“Like shepherd, like savior.”


	18. Chapter 18

It’s only when the sun sets on their first night in Neverland that she really begins to feel her aches. Her bones creak, her joints protest, and her head feels like someone took a crowbar to it. Oh wait. Someone actually did. 

She groans as she eases her jacket off and braces herself against the beam in the small birth. Removing that one item of clothing took more out of her than she’d care to admit - at least to some passengers of the Jolly Roger - and she inhales deeply, fighting off the wave of dizziness that threatens to take the strength from her legs. 

“Everything all right?” comes a voice and she jumps, a not entirely smart maneuver as she sways and reaches out for the nearest object. She hadn’t exactly planned on her father fitting the bill. “Easy, easy. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, bracing a hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist. “When was the last time you ate? Or slept?" 

"When was the last time  _you_ did either of those things?” she fires back with a smile and he raises an eyebrow. 

“We were talking about you, not me." 

"Mmm.” She leans into him, allowing him to support her for a moment before he eases her onto the small cot attached to the wall. 

“I’m going to get you some water." 

"Where? It’s not like there’s a working sink.” She chuckles at her own joke and that’s when she realizes she might be more dehydrated than she thinks. 

“Lucky for you, your mother brought a water bottle,” is his cheeky reply and she marvels at his ability to tend to her when there’s blood still running down his arm. She hadn’t noticed it before - not with the jacket in the way - but there it is, red on blue, a patriotic display on a day that feels the exact opposite of celebratory. 

She starts to say, “David?” but the word cuts off short - trading a D for a V and “Dad?” comes out instead. 

He freezes in the doorway, hand poised on the railing to ascend to the deck and the water she so desperately needs - but he waits, the name halting his steps and making her heart pound in her chest. 

“Yes?” is his reply and she pretends not to notice the roughness of his voice or the wetness in his eyes. 

Instead, she stares at the wound once more, marveling at how many hurts he’s taken for his family. How many scars he bears in their name. 

“You should get that cleaned up." 

"I’ll clean it when you’re able to stand again." 

"I’ll stand when you get me a first aid kit." 

He looks at her with not a little pride as he smiles and nods, leaving for a moment and returning once more with what can only be Hook’s rudimentary excuse for medical supplies. 

"You mean Mar - Mom - didn’t have a whole hospital packed in that bag?" 

If he notices her slip, he doesn’t comment. Merely chuckles as he pulls out antiseptic and a bandage, passing over the water bottle he also procured on his trip upstairs. 

"Oh she does. I just told her to save it for something… more dire." 

"This  _is_ dire!” Emma is exclaiming before she can stop herself, reaching out and feeling the blood soaking his shirt. 

“Emma,” he says in a tone she wishes she had heard her entire life. “I’m fine. It’s a graze. Now please drink that water before you fall over." 

"Yes, father,” she replies. 

“Don’t argue with a prince." 

"Shepherd." 

"Turned prince. I fought for that kingdom fair and square,” he defends, but concedes her sass. “Touche, princess." 

Oh. Yes, she supposes she is. But she’s not sure how to respond to that, so she reaches for the supplies and makes a vague gesture at him to remove his shirt, which he does with great difficulty.

What a pair they make. 

"Can the next family vacation be somewhere tropical? With, you know, less gunfire and more fruity cocktails?" 

He laughs and promptly winces. "I’ll talk to your mother." 

The words themselves are mundane - nothing special or exceptional - yet she’s pretty sure she’s been waiting her entire life to hear them. 

_Can I go play at a friend’s house?_

_I’ll talk to your mother._

_Can I go to the movies?_

_I’ll talk to your mother._

_Can I move out, start dating, get married, have a child?_

_No._

_… But I’ll talk to your mother._


	19. Chapter 19

As she watches her father patch up a cut on back of her mother’s head, blood still dripping from the wound on his arm, she remembers that picture. The one in the book that seemed to explain her father’s love for her mother in a nutshell. 

He had an arrow through his shoulder - one her mother put there - and yet at the first sign of danger, he was covering her head and hurrying to get her away, despite the physical pain he was in. They couldn’t outrun them - both of them couldn’t - but if he could just get her away, just make sure she was safe…

He would find her once more. 

The picture was a summation of the love and devotion he had for her.  _Still_  has for her. Will never  _stop_ having for her. 

Emma knows this and watches with rapt attention as David places a kiss on top of Snow’s head, signaling he’s finished. Snow turns and grabs his chin, bringing him to her lips and rubbing her thumb along his jawline.

It’s an intimate moment - too intimate for the deck of the Jolly Roger - but Emma can’t be bothered to give them the privacy they deserve. Not when she’s witnessing further proof that she came from two people who would die to protect the other. She came from  _love_ \- and for a child who grew up thinking that the side of the road was all she deserved, it’s an overwhelming truth to accept. 

So Emma watches, because despite being convinced long ago that she was loved, wanted, hoped for… Well.

A little extra proof never hurt anyone. 


	20. Chapter 20

“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like?" 

"Hm?" 

She doesn’t need to glance over at him. She knows he’s been standing behind her for the better part of ten minutes. Ever since she let her legs dangle over the side of the ship, holding onto nothing but a taut piece of rigging. He’s been watching. Waiting. Just in case she lost her grip. 

"Do you ever wonder what it would have been like?” she repeats, staring out over the fading sun setting the ocean on fire. “Had the curse not been cast." 

He inhales sharply, but still she does not turn. She’s not sure she could bear the pained look on his face at the thought of years - decades - spent loving, teaching,  _parenting_  her.

"All the time,” he finally says, leaning against the railing and crossing his arms over his chest, back to the sunset. 

“How do you cope?” She finally meets his gaze and he frowns at her. 

“Cope with what?" 

"With the thought of all that could have been? I mean…” she stares back out over the water, unable to confess the following to his face, to the eyes she inherited from him. “I know you now. Both of you. And I'm  _so_ happy you’re here, but I'm  _so_ pissed that I could’ve had you for so much longer.” She chuckles sadly and brushes a hand across his temple. “You should be grey.”

He laughs softly, taking her hand and placing it back on the rigging, refusing to let go until she’s holding tight. “I think about it a lot. More than I should,” he admits. “But then I remember that I have you now. And that, while I’ve missed out on 28 years, I’ve got more than twice that to go. Those aren’t bad odds." 

"But - ” she begins to protest, but he places a cold finger on her lips. 

“Yes. Yes, I wish I could have caught you after you took your first steps. Wish I could have bribed you into saying, "Papa” before “Mama.” Taught you how to ride and fight and lead.“ He sighs heavily and shrugs, as if his logic is more than sound. "But had the curse not happened, you wouldn’t have met Neal. You wouldn’t have had Henry. And as much as I would kill for those years back, I wouldn’t sacrifice my grandson for them." 

At the mention of Henry, her heart constricts and he must notice the look on her face, because he’s immediately wrapping an arm across her stomach and pulling her in close. She leans her head on his shoulder and feels him place a kiss in her hair. 

"We’ll get him back, Em.” The nickname is new and she smiles, silently trying it out on her lips. 

“I know.” Because if she’s learned anything from her parents, it’s that they are a fearsome sight to behold when fighting for the ones they love. 

“Good,” he murmurs, placing another kiss on her head for good measure. "Now. Please get off the railing - you’re about to give me a heart attack.“ 

She laughs as the sun disappears beneath the horizon.

"Yes, Papa." 


	21. Chapter 21

She always knew he’d do something stupid like this. Something moronically noble that would invariably take him away from them.

She knew he would and yet she didn’t count on it happening so soon. She didn’t expect to have less time with him than what was owed to her. Fate had taken twenty-eight years, and she planned to collect on that plus interest.

Yes, she knew he’d go out fighting.

But that didn’t mean she was remotely prepared for it. 

“Where’s David?" 

The name brings the three people in front of her up short, and they glance at each other in a way that Emma immediately loathes. It’s pity that’s shining from their eyes and their mouths open and close around words that will not come. 

"Where is David?” she demands again, slowly, if only to counterbalance the panic rising within her. Henry’s arms tighten around her waist and her fingers unconsciously thread through his hair.

Finally, it’s Hook that steps forward, leaving Regina and Gold hanging back remarkably silent. It’s Hook that places a hand on her arm and squeezes tight, uttering four simple words that shatter her very soul.

“I’m so sorry, love." 

_No._

"It’s my fault,” Henry cries and Emma barely registers Hook abruptly cutting him off. 

“No, it’s not." 

"He was saving  _me.”_

“Henry, we talked about this.”

But Emma isn’t listening. Henry’s tears are soaking her jacket, but David is gone. Her  _father_ is gone. Is this what her life is always to be like? Sacrificing one family member for the other, until she’s alone once more. The punchline of fate’s cruel joke. 

“Emma?” Hook’s voice is breaking through the haze, and it takes her a second to move her eyes to his. “Do you understand what I’m saying?" 

_Too well._

She nods and wordlessly passes Henry to Regina so she can turn her back and try to get her breathing under control. Her mind is full of missing opportunities and lost chances - a long overdue childhood she so desperately wanted to experience. 

But it’s lost now. Along with him. He’s gone where she can’t follow, taking the sword fighting and horseback riding lessons with him. 

Henry’s cries are muffled in Regina’s coat, but Emma can’t look at him yet. Because to look on her son would mean to accept that her father traded one life for another, and that’s not something she can do at the moment.

Gold has come to stand by her side, a silent column of support to lean on, should she need it. Hook’s hand is still on her back and, right now, it’s the only thing tethering her to reality.

"What do I tell my mom?” she finally murmurs, the thought twisting her gut in the tightest of knots. The one person who should be here - who  _needs_  to be here, is the last to know. 

“I’ll do it,” Regina says, stepping forward with a slightly surprised expression on her face, as if she herself can’t quite believe what she’s just volunteered to do. But then she says something that knocks the breath from Emma’s lungs. “I’ve mourned with her before. Let me do so again." 

Emma can feel herself nodding, and Regina bends down, murmuring something in Henry’s ear before stepping away from him. Henry gravitates towards Emma once more and she pulls him in close. The boy with his father’s eyes and his grandfather’s spark.

"Is Gramps really gone?” he asks quietly and Emma swallows hard, closing her eyes as the first tears fall. 

“Yeah, he’s really gone, Henry.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“It’s not,” Gold says, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He would have done the same for any of us.”

And it’s true.  

She marvels at how they’ve all come together in this. Everyone on this ship has a quarrel with another, but David - David was the steady rock, garnering as much respect as ire from any foe they came up against. Maybe that’s why Captain Hook, Rumpelstiltskin and the Evil Queen are standing tall by her side.

Because she is Prince Charming’s daughter.

And the Prince has fallen.


	22. Chapter 22

She was warm. Warm, red-faced and screaming the first time Snow held her daughter in her arms.

Now -

Now she is cold. Cold, pale and nearly blue as Charming eases her with the greatest of cares onto the deck of the ship. Into her waiting arms.

It’s a heady feeling, the utter joy and terror running through her body and the conflicting emotions are nearly tearing her in two. She felt no different on the day she brought Emma into this world and she prays to any higher power listening that this isn’t the day her daughter leaves it.

“Emma, please…” she begs as Charming feels her wrist. “Honey, please.”

Her nails dig into her husband’s arm as he presses his forehead to their daughter’s.

And with a shudder and a cough, Emma opens her eyes and breathes.


	23. Chapter 23

“You lied." 

"Excuse me?” Charming straightens and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, ignoring the stream and its cool water in favor of the girl - woman - in front of him. 

“You lied. Hook didn’t save your life." 

"He did, actually.” And Charming grins because of all the sentences he thought he’d ever say, that was nowhere near the top ten. 

Emma eyes him curiously and holds a hand out for the canteen, which he gladly passes over. She knows something about his story is amiss. He knows she knows, which makes his knowing grin all the more infuriating for her. Finally, as he stares into eyes his daughter inherited from him, he finds the words tumbling from his mouth. Words that have been fighting for air as strongly as he’s been fighting for life.

“I’ve been dying for the past three days." 

It takes her a moment to register what he’s said and then she snorts and offers him a raised eyebrow. "Yeah right." 

He knew she wouldn’t believe him, which is why he’s taking such delight in basking in her skepticism. His daughter doesn’t believe him. And he’s around to prove her wrong. Nothing in the world could be more perfect. 

He could leave it be and walk away now, but he’s never been the type to turn his back on family. And so he lifts his shirt, listens to his daughter audibly inhale, and only then does he glance down to see the still-healing veins etching constellations on his abdomen.

"You were serious,” she murmurs, unconsciously stepping forward and reaching out to trace the patterns on his skin. 

“I was.”

And then her eyes meet his and it’s his turn to inhale. “You were dying?”

He smiles sadly at her then because words have become superfluous. He remembers the goodbyes he thought to be his last and wouldn’t wish that task on anyone. 

“Grandpa loves him,” Emma begins, anger tainting her tone. “That’s what you wanted us to say.”  

“It’s the truth." 

"You would have left without saying goodbye." 

"I said goodbye." 

"Well it wasn’t enough!” she yells, the truth echoing around the forest like a condemnation. “It’s not… it’s never -  a hug is not enough!” And that’s when she breaks - his beautiful, strong, stubborn daughter. She crumbles like grains of sand in front of him and it’s all he can do to scoop her up fast enough. She’s right: a hug is not enough. A mere hug will never be enough to make up for what they’ve lost. 

“I’m okay,” he softly replies, pressing her face into his jacket and breathing in the scent of her hair. “I’m fine." 

"But you weren’t,” is her garbled reply against his shoulder and he concedes. 

“I wasn’t." 

"Don’t do that again." 

He briefly remembers the price for his health - the goodbye that inevitably lingers on Neverland’s horizon - but for now, his daughter is before him, staring at him as if he’s the hero in every story she’s ever heard. 

"I love you, Emma Swan,” he whispers. “That’s what I should have said.”

Another tear falls on her cheek and she rubs it away with a self-conscious smile.

“Be careful, Dad.” She places her hand on his shirt, over the wound that once sucked the life from his body, and shrugs sadly. “I should have said that first." 

Should have.

There are so many things he should do…

_Love. Fight. Save. Weep. Kiss. Trust. Let go. Goodbye._

… in what little time he has left. 


	24. Chapter 24

“Your mom didn’t mean it." 

Emma glances up from the stick she’s currently jabbing into the fire and snorts as David crouches down next to her. "Of course she did. Had it been a lie, the bridge never would have formed." 

He raises an eyebrow as if conceding, but offers no argument. Instead, he merely sits down on the cold, hard ground and picks up his own stick to torture the flames with. 

Silence descends and she takes the quiet moment to study him. Study the newly formed grooves around his eyes from too much stress and too little sleep. The still-healing nicks on his knuckles from their initial brawl on the Jolly Roger. The way his sad gaze never leaves the flames. Not even to look for her mother. Not even to look over at her. His daughter. 

"Do you want another kid?” She has no idea why the words leave her mouth - she really doesn’t want to know the answer - but tumble they come and she sees him visibly tense as he jabs the stick in further. 

“I’d rather get to know the one I have, thank you.”  

The words warm something deep inside, but part of her - that lonely little girl hidden away - wonders if he’s just saying it because he knows it’s what she wants to hear. 

“I’m not what you wanted." 

And that’s the moment he turns to face her, reaching out and clutching her hand with such a fierce desperation that she drops the stick and ignores the flames that consume it. 

"You’re exactly what I wanted,” he states with conviction.

“You wanted a baby - ”

“And you are." 

She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. "Excuse me?" 

He releases his grip, but doesn’t remove his palm from hers. "Doesn’t matter how old you are. You’ll always be that baby I put in a wardrobe so she could become the beautiful woman I see before me." 

Oh.

_Oh._ It’s all she can think. That word over and over again. His words have stolen her voice and she can make no reply. Not when she hears the truth ringing through his every syllable.

"David - ” she whispers, but it’s all that comes out. She knows Mary Margaret didn’t mean it. She knows her mother wanted her. 

What she didn’t know was that she needed to hear her father say it. 


	25. Chapter 25

“Does that make me boatswain?" 

Hook glances up from the star map in front of him and raises an eyebrow as David leans against the railing. 

"Position’s open if you want it. Though,” he nods in Mary Margaret’s direction, “I have a feeling your wife will have you otherwise occupied." 

David chuckles and climbs the final two stairs, coming to stand next to the captain at the helm. Silence washes over them and David stares out at the horizon as Hook tries very hard not to stare at his daughter. 

"Will you stay?” the man finally says after a moment, and it’s a moment Hook finds himself needing to gather his thoughts around that rather weighty question. 

“Only if she wants me to,” is the reply that finally comes and he holds his breath, waiting for the other man - the father of the woman he loves - to find him wanting. 

David inhales deeply, eyes never leaving that horizon, and every moment he’s quiet is another notch tightened on the vise around Hook’s heart.

“Ultimately, the decision is hers. But - ” David turns and meets Hook’s gaze - strong, defiant,  _trusting_  - and claps the pirate on the back, hand lingering on his shoulder to give it a squeeze. “We could always use another good man around town." 

Hook scoffs, yet finds it remarkably hard to swallow. "You mean a pirate." 

"No, a good man,” David simply replies. “Doesn’t matter what colors he flies under." 


	26. Chapter 26

In dreams, she remembers soft palms gently cupping her cheeks. A calm, reassuring expression that belies the unknown rapidly coming for them.

She remembers a man’s squared shoulders as he looks at her with more pride than she’s ever seen, and the overwhelming sense of  _safe_  she feels when his large hand cups the back of her head.

She remembers the smell of pine as she buries her nose in his shirt and little arms -  _Henry's_ arms - as they wrap around her back. 

She feels the weight of twenty gazes on her, but she only has eyes for them. 

She doesn’t see a tear on those faces she can’t quite define, despite the fact that her own lower lip is trembling. And she doesn’t actually say “goodbye,” despite the fact that that’s what this is. 

And it hurts. Above it all, above everything else, she remembers the pain of a forced farewell. 

In dreams, she remembers.

But upon waking, they’re gone - the mere ghost of a feeling, waiting until she can close her eyes and be with them once more. 


	27. Chapter 27

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hook murmurs as he falls into step with Neal, but the man he once looked at as a son merely snorts and keeps his head down. 

“Yeah.”

Hook supposes he should be grateful to even get a one word response and not a fist to the jaw. And though he perhaps wished this fate once on the Dark One, actually hearing his goodbye and seeing his demise has the pirate feeling less than satisfactory. 

“I mean it,” he insists, placing a hand on Bae - Neal’s arm. “I am sorry. Truly." 

Neal stares at him and Hook can see both hope and disbelief war within his gaze. After a moment, he nods and gives the pirate a tight smile, silently accepting his condolences as they march toward an even harder battle.

Toward a town line and a goodbye he’s not sure either man will survive. 

"He’s a good boy. Henry,” Hook says and, for just a moment, the stoic mask Neal’s been wearing since his father died cracks. 

“He is. Not sure I can take much credit for that, though,” he replies, shrugging.

“Sure you can. I think we all take after our parents in some way, even if they’re not the one who brought us up." 

Neal gives a humorless chuckle as he pulls his collar tighter against the misty rain. "Does that make me an evil, power hungry coward?" 

A weight settles in Hook’s stomach and he glances sideways at the former Lost Boy, wondering if he ever was truly found if that’s how he thinks of himself. Or his father. If he’s learned anything, it’s that life is rarely that black and white.

"No,” he whispers, a little surprised he’s about to defend the Dark One’s honor. “You fight for those you love. That’s what your father did." 

Neal smiles sadly and shakes his head. "I didn’t learn it all from him.”

Hook inhales sharply. Of course. How could he be so stupid? “I did love your mother. Very much.” The admission isn’t exactly an olive branch, but words are all he has at the moment. 

“I know you did." 

"I’m sorry I took her away from you.”

“I know that, too. But I wasn’t referring to my mother." 

Hook frowns as Neal glances sideways at him, leaving the implication hanging in the air. 

You fight for those you love.

"I don’t give up on Emma because you taught me not to.”

And of all the things Hook expected him to say, that was nowhere near the top ten. Neal seems to delight in the pirate’s stunned silence as they slow their walk, coming upon the orange line that divides their happiness and heartbreak. 

“So really,” the former Lost Boy begins, nodding at Emma, “this is all your fault." 

"Aye,” Hook manages after a moment, watching Neal whose gaze resolutely stays on the horizon. “Aye, I guess it is.”


	28. Chapter 28

He shouldn’t be surprised by how light she is. But even knowing she’s probably 110 pounds soaking wet, he’s still impressed with how easily he hoists her over his shoulder and carries her out of the bar. 

The fact that she doesn’t ask him what the hell he’s doing is a testament to how drunk she is and getting her home as quickly as possible is in everyone’s best interest. It’s not particularly dignified, but then again, drinking with a pirate on a Friday night in Maine was hardly going to be.

He grunts as he shifts her weight, attempting to hold her with his one good hand while simultaneously trying not to accidentally stab her with his hook or be accused of taking advantage. It’s all very precarious. 

He nods to Leroy as the dwarf holds the door open, allowing the savior and her captain to pass through. 

“You bring her straight home,” he instructs and Hook nods. 

“Aye. That I will." 

The dwarf watches him with a careful eye as they head into the night and Hook supposes he should be grateful that he doesn’t have a pickaxe in his head, but to be perfectly honest, it’s not the dwarves’ overprotection he’s worried about. 

No, not when there’s a Prince with spectacular swordfighting skills waiting for her at home. 

"If your father kills me, I’m blaming you. You know this, right?” he asks and she giggles in return. 

Emma Swan doesn’t giggle. 

“Swan?" 

"Yes?” The word is a little slurred, but he makes no comment. 

“There’s a good chance I might die tonight. And if that’s to be my fate, I’d like you to know that you make a great first mate." 

She laughs and wobbles on top of his shoulder, and he halts in the middle of the street and waits until she settles, smiling to himself. 

"I’m not a first mate. I don’t even have a boat." 

"Ship,” he corrects. 

“Whatever." 

Their house isn’t far away - just a few blocks - but with every step he takes, he’s pretty convinced he falls more and more in love with her. Which he didn’t even think was possible. She’s drunk and giggling and unable to walk in a straight line, but damn if she’s not the most amazing person he’s ever seen. 

"Does that make you my captain?” she asks, breaking his train of thought and he inhales sharply, slowing his steps and holding her just a little bit closer. 

“If you’ll have me,” he murmurs after a moment. 

She wiggles and he’s forced to lower her to the ground, quickly grabbing her around the waist as she stumbles in her attempt to look him in the eye. 

“Oh I’ll have you,” she breathes, leaning in to do something he’s been dreaming about since he first clapped eyes on her, but then he checks himself - shockingly allowing the angels to shout down the demons in his head.

She’s drunk. And he’ll be damned if their first kiss involves anything less than the full extent of her faculties.

He places a finger to her lips as she leans in and she halts, opening her eyes and looking at him with such confusion, his battered pirate heart twists.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, swaying slightly, and his grip on her waist tightens.

“Don’t be, love.” He stares at her and her wide, glassy eyes remain locked on him. “You make it very difficult to be a gentleman." 

She smiles brightly, looking more sober than he’s seen her look since she knocked back her first rum earlier that evening. "You make it very difficult, period."

"Sorry," he manages. 

"No, you’re not." 

"No, I’m not." 

She smiles again and attempts to take a step away from him, but she makes it no more than one stride before he scoops her into his arms once more. 

"What’re you doing?" 

"Making sure you don’t bruise that pretty face,” he mutters, shifting her again and attempting not to dig his hook into her jean-clad leg.

“Mkay,” she replies, settling in against his chest and closing her eyes as he makes his way up her front walk. 

A weight drops in the pit of his stomach as he climbs the stairs to her front door and he swallows hard as he uses his foot to kick out a knock. 

_Well. This is it._  This is how he dies, he thinks, as the door swings back and David stands there, hard eyes flicking between the pirate and the girl in his arms. 

“Before you say anything, I barely had anything to do with this." 

David raises an eyebrow, but silently opens the door further to allow Hook through. And the pirate eases out a breath as he enters the apartment and gently lowers Emma to the couch. 

He stands and turns to face David like the man he is, bracing himself for the inevitable. 

” _Barely_  had anything to do with it?“ the Prince asks and Hook has the decency to look sheepish. 

"I might have bought the first round. Or two." 

David nods, but merely grabs a blanket and tucks in his daughter. Hook watches carefully, taking a quiet delight in watching the prince be a father and Emma be a daughter. Roles they were both born to play. 

"You all right to get home?” David asks and Hook’s eyes snap to his. 

“What?" 

"Are you all right to get home?" 

"Fine,” he murmurs, surprised by how affected he is by someone else actually caring for his well-being. 

“Here,” David says as he moves into the kitchen and grabs a plastic container off of the counter. “Snow made extra pasta tonight. She figured you’d need a hot meal." 

Hook’s jaw goes slack as his gaze flicks from the food to the Prince’s knowing expression. 

Oh.  _Oh._

So this is what ‘family’ is like. 

David chuckles quietly and practically shoves the leftovers into Hook’s hand. "Get some sleep." 

"Aye,” he whispers, staring at the food like it’s the most precious treasure in the world. 

“Thanks for getting her home.” David holds his hand out and Hook takes it firmly. 

“Always." 

And something passes across the Prince’s face like he knows Hook will always treat her like the precious cargo she is. Like getting her home in one piece is just inevitable.

A foregone conclusion. 

"Go straight back to Granny’s. Don’t do anything stupid,” David instructs and Hook grins. 

“Aye, aye." 

The Prince sighs and glances back over his shoulder at his sleeping daughter. "She’ll never forgive me if I let anything happen to you." 

"Likewise,” Hook replies and it’s a silent understanding that one will always watch out for the other, if only to protect the heart of the woman they care about.

“Goodnight,” David says and Emma mutters a “G'night” from the couch, causing both men to chuckle.

“You make a great first mate, Swan,” he says and Emma’s eyes flutter open. 

“Oh Captain, my captain,” she replies and the stupid, sentimental pirate in him beams. 

“And on  _that_ note,” David interrupts, opening the door and effectively breaking the moment, which is what fathers are for, Hook supposes.

With one last glance at the woman who’s pillaged his heart, he gives a little salute as he exits because, frankly, getting kicked out of Emma’s apartment is the best Friday night Hook could have hoped for. 


	29. Chapter 29

“What’s on the docket for tonight, kid?” Emma asks, wiping her hands on the dish towel and watching as Henry pulls books out of his backpack, settling in at the kitchen table.

“Some math and this…” he holds up a piece of paper and Emma squints, stepping closer to get a look at the heading. 

_“My Family Tree,"_ she reads. Huh. "Shouldn’t be too hard,” she murmurs and Henry chuckles. 

“Right.”

And he takes out a pencil and writes  _Emma Swan_  in messy scrawl in the leaf labeled ‘Mom,’ before setting the paper aside and pulling his math book in front of him.

She’s not sure why she keeps glancing over his shoulder - why her eyes constantly find the sheet of paper containing more blank leaves than any tree should bear - but they do. 

“Kid, wait." 

"Huh?" 

She takes the pencil from his hand and writes  _Neal Cassidy_ in the leaf labeled "Dad,” clearing her throat and resolutely ignoring the fact that his eyes follow her back to the stove and the pasta she’s no doubt burning.

“Still pretty blank, huh,” comes his quiet voice and she closes her eyes against the pain the tiny whisper brings. If she could change her fate she would. If she could give him more family, more leaves, she do it in a heartbeat. She’d give him such a convoluted family tree that no amount of leaves or roots could contain it.

But she can’t. Because the leaves are gone or never were.  

And a hard truth is better than an imagined fairytale.


	30. Chapter 30

“What the hell happened to you?” Hook asks and it takes Charming a moment to realize the words are directed at him. 

“What?" 

"Well, mate, unless you got in a fight between Maine and here…” he trails off and only then does Charming realize Hook is referring to his shirt and the blood that stains it; its red as bright and as fresh as it was on the day he earned his scars. 

“Oh,” he says softly, running his finger along the tear at his side - the lethal one. The fatal blow. “A sacrifice I was willing to make." 

Charming catches Snow’s eye and watches her inventory the stains on his shirt before swallowing hard and turning away. The blatant reminder of Emma’s first goodbye is too much, too fast on the heels of her second. 

He knows the feeling. 

Hook is staring at him like he doesn’t buy it yet is trying hard not to show too much interest. Such is the pirate way. Yet Charming can’t help the words that tumble forth, because if he doesn’t talk about this, he’ll end up talking about  _that_. And he can’t talk about that. Not yet. Not until Emma’s scent no longer lingers in the air and the feel of her hair fades from his fingertips. 

"I died getting Emma to the wardrobe,” he finally explains, watching as Hook’s eyebrows hit his hairline and he catalogues the Prince’s injuries, as if making sure the man in front of him is actually alive and well. “Or would have, if not for the first curse.” He gives a humorless scoff. “Funny how things work out." 

"Funny, indeed,” the pirate quietly replies and David can hear the mourning then. The ‘goodbye’ they’re all trying to ignore despite how bereft it’s left them. 

“Come on, I’ll find you a horse,” he offers, but he knows Hook likely won’t stay. Emma was his anchor, tethering him to home and here and hope. But he’s lost his mooring and he’ll remain adrift until she comes back. This Charming knows. 

Hook’s scars may not be as visible, but Charming knows he has them. He’s suffered hurts for the people he loves, and though neither of them is beaten and bloodied, this goodbye is just as costly as the last. 

And when Hook goes, Charming doesn’t say what he wants to:  _be careful, don’t be stupid, don’t get yourself killed before she can see you again._

Because he knows their paths will cross once more and he knows she’ll be there when they do. Emma, his daughter, the anchor in the storm. 


	31. Chapter 31

The bite of the rum has long since dulled, but Hook takes another pull anyway, imagining the phantom kick of the alcohol as a numbing fog makes his senses go a bit hazy. 

If he listens hard enough, he can hear the halyards banging against their masts in the harbor - a mournful lullaby calling him home. 

He’s down to the dregs in his flask, yet he tips it back farther; as if the rum would magically replenish and drag him further down into the comfort of nothingness. Sadly, fate isn’t that kind. 

Baelfire is gone. And no amount of alcohol will take that pain away. 

He curses as the final drop lands on his tongue and considers hurling the flask into the water, even winding up to make the throw, yet the fight in him drains the minute he gets a good look at the stars reflecting off the rippling tide. 

Baelfire loved the stars. 

_Loved._  Hook wonders when he started using past tense. With a humorless chuckle, he swallows hard and lets the flask drop beside him, not caring at all that it rolls away down the shallow cement slope. 

The rum is muffling his hearing and making the world go a bit wobbly, which is why he doesn’t notice David taking a seat next to him on the dock until the prince pushes the flask back into his good hand. 

“You’ll be needing that,” he murmurs and Hook shakes his head. 

“S'empty.”

“Which is why I came prepared,” the prince quietly replies and only then does Hook notice the paper bag in David’s hand and the bottle of liquor he’s currently pulling out of it. 

“I thought you didn’t like my choice of drink." And if his voice has a bit of a slur, neither man pays it any mind.

"It’s an acquired taste. I’m adapting.” David takes the flask and fills it up, before taking a swig directly from the bottle. Hook pretends he doesn’t notice the wince that briefly crosses his face. 

“Cheers, mate,” he replies, raising the flask to his lips and taking a long pull. The liquid helps, but only a bit as they settle into a comfortable silence. 

A minute passes and neither says a word. Four more go by in much the same fashion. It isn’t until somewhere around the ninth that Hook realizes David didn’t come to talk. He came to sit. He came to drink. He came to be there in case  _Hook_ needed to say a word, any word, but he didn’t come to begin the discussion.

And Hook loves him a bit for that.

Damn hero types. 

“Thank you,” he finally says, keeping his gaze out over the water and the stars whose reflections kiss the waves. 

David shrugs and takes another swig. This time, he doesn’t wince. 

“What are mates for." 


	32. Chapter 32

It doesn’t take her long to find him. Granted, his truck is a dead giveaway, but still, there are very few haunts still open in Storybrooke at 10pm on a Thursday. 

She pulls the door to The Rabbit Hole open and coughs against the scent of beer and sawdust. Smoke seems to hang heavy in the air despite the No Smoking signs and she squints her well-trained eyes to scan the room for his familiar frame. 

Sure enough, he’s at the bar, hunched over a pint and staring into the amber liquid like the answers to all of his problems are at the bottom of the glass. 

“Hey,” she murmurs as she slides onto the stool next to him and he starts as he glances up and takes her in.

“Hi,” he replies, giving her the smile that’s only reserved for her. Not even Mary Margaret gets that smile and the little girl in her beams under the paternal scrutiny.

“So,” she nods at the beer, “rough day?" 

He chuckles and she signals the bartender that she’ll have one of the same. 

"Well, the Wicked Witch of the West threatened the entire town, and more importantly, my family, but no, why would you think I’ve had a rough day?” He grins wryly and takes a large gulp of his beer. She joins him a moment later when her own glass is placed in front of her. 

“Where’s Mary Margaret?" 

"Home. Ruby is with her. Where’s Henry?" 

"Granny’s. Hook is patrolling the hall." 

David raises a brow and she rolls her eyes. 

"At ease, Pops." 

He laughs, genuine and loud, and she delights in the sound, wanting to hear it more often from the man who carries too many burdens on his broad shoulders. The smile slides from her face as she clears her throat, never one to be comfortable with heart-to-hearts. 

"Are you okay?” she finally asks and his gaze finds hers again. 

“Are you?” he counters and despite years spent fortifying her walls, her veneer cracks.

“Neal’s dead, my son doesn’t remember his family, and I’m supposedly a savior who has no idea how to save.” She laughs if only to mask the growing feeling of utter helplessness. "I’m always okay, though.“ 

She doesn’t have to be a genius to know he sees through the lie. 

"Like father, like daughter then,” is the response and she has to swallow hard against the sudden tightness in her throat, watching him inhale a shaky breath. “My grandson doesn’t know me, my daughter’s heart is broken, a witch is coming for my unborn child, and I’m terrified - ” he cuts himself off and she watches his knuckles turn white against the grip on his mug. 

“What are you terrified of?” she quietly asks. 

“That I’ll fail you. All of you. You, Henry, the baby." 

The speed with which her hand covers his surprises both of them, and she holds his fingers tight. 

"You could never fail me,” she whispers, the conviction in her tone evident.

“Oh Emma,” he breathes. “I already have." 

And immediately, the bar goes silent, the beer loses its taste, and the only thing pounding through Emma’s brain is how this man could possibly think he failed her. 

"What? No, you haven’t. How could you even - ” Words fail her as incredulity courses through her veins. 

“I lost you. For 28 years, you thought you were abandoned. And I could have prevented that." 

"By what? By dying?” Her hand finds its way to his leather jacket, just below his heart where she knows the scar from his fatal wound resides. “Don’t ever say that,” she says with a fierceness that brooks no argument. “Don’t you ever think that I would be better off without you. I have you now and that’s more than I ever could have hoped for. You didn’t fail me. You never could." 

Tears pool in his eyes and it takes her a moment to notice her own cheeks are wet. He swallows once, then twice, turning slightly away from her and clearing his throat, but never taking his hand off of hers where it rests just below his rapidly beating heart. 

"And you’re not going to fail the new baby, either,” she quietly says, because despite her declarations, she can still see the fear in his eyes. 

“I lost my courage." 

"And yet you still put yourself between your family and the Wicked Witch of the West without a second thought. If that’s not courageous, then I don’t know what is." 

He smiles and clears his throat one last time, taking a sip of his beer, yet never letting go of her hand. They’re silent for a moment, enjoying the simplicity of a shared drink in Storybrooke’s only bar. Leroy’s laugh echoes from somewhere near the pool table and both she and David smile. 

"Things happened so quickly, I never asked if you were okay with the whole… baby… thing,” he finishes lamely and she can’t help but chuckle at the look of pure terror on his face. 

“You’re making me a big sister,” she shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?" 

He smiles in that sadly proud way she sometimes notices that seems to say,  _I wish I could have raised you,_ and she finds herself wishing for so many things. That he could have seen her first step, heard her first word. Given her her first lesson in self-defense, even if it was just to fend off a boy, instead of an all-powerful sorceress.

"You’ll make a great big sister,” he finally says, voice rough. 

“How do you know?" 

And his answer is simple. "You’re good at protecting people." 

"Yeah,” she whispers. “My father taught me." 


	33. Chapter 33

“Just spit it out,” Charming murmurs on Emma’s tenth pass through Granny’s living room and his daughter freezes, as if she didn’t realize she was pacing to begin with.

Her hands clench and unclench at her sides and she shifts her weight from foot to foot, a nervous tick he doesn’t normally associate with his headstrong offspring. She refuses to meet his eyes, yet he waits, because her words will come, as they are wont to do.

“You killed yourself,” she finally says, accusation clear in her tone.

“Actually, your mother killed me,” he replies, going for levity which is met with a disapproving frown she definitely inherited from his better half. 

“How could you - ” she cuts herself off and lets her gaze focus on the floor once more, biting her lip to keep the words at bay.

“How couldn’t I?” is his quiet rebuttal, effectively silencing her argument. In fact, he can practically see the fight seep out of her, leaving nothing but sad resignation. 

“Had Mary Margaret’s gamble not worked - had you not… I never would have seen you again.” If her voice wobbles, he doesn’t comment on it. Only gives a half-hearted shrug and lets out a heavy sigh.

“And you never would have seen me again had I not given my heart. Which I did freely and willingly." 

"Which is why I’m so angry,” she snaps. 

And he can’t help but smile because his lovely, perfect, beautiful, strong daughter is angry with him, and he’s around to be on the receiving end. 

It truly is a beautiful thing.


	34. Chapter 34

Snow doesn’t quite believe what her eyes are seeing.

She doesn’t trust the creak of the door or the heavy footfall of his boot. The familiar noise of his leather jacket or the clink of his sword hanging at his side. Most of all, she doesn’t trust the quiet, yet contented whimper from the blanketed bundle in his arms.

She doesn’t believe what she’s seeing because she’s seen him run out the door before, sword in hand, with a child’s life at stake. She’s seen the doorway remain empty as the clang of swords replaced the sound of her daughter’s cries. She’s dragged her broken body in pursuit of him, only to find him in a puddle of red that haunts even her waking hours. 

She doesn’t believe what she’s seeing because, against all odds, they’re here. They came back. Both of them - father and child - perfectly alive. Perfectly well. 

And she doesn’t believe what she’s seeing until he places that blanketed bundle in her arms and she feels the weight of her son in the crook of her elbow. Feels him wrap his tiny fist around her finger and hold it in a grip he inherited from his father. 

Charming came back.  _They_  came back. 

And the doorway is no longer empty, because her firstborn - the daughter whose cries still echo in her nightmares - is staring at them with such love and joy that Snow cannot breathe. 

But seeing is finally believing because here they all are: husband, daughter, grandson,  _son._ And Snow knows her doorway will never be empty again. 


End file.
